


Happily Ever After (Feliz Para Siempre)

by iwillgodownwiththisship84



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillgodownwiththisship84/pseuds/iwillgodownwiththisship84
Summary: She was so tiny with a head of dark hair and a little rosebud mouth. Tears pricked at his eyes at the realisation that she was his - he was finally un padre, and he felt as though the hand that was now gripping his finger was also squeezing his heart, and wasn’t ever going to let go.Sequel to ‘Completamente Y Para Siempre’
Relationships: Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic - a sequel to ‘Completamente Y Para Siempre’ but probably works as a stand-alone. 
> 
> Not going to make any promises on when I’ll post chapter two etc.; this first one took me several months to finish...
> 
> For once this is going to be mostly fluffy with smut, but I might have to add a bit of angst in later chapters...

The call came in the middle of the night.

Rafa was fast asleep, snuggled in his husband’s arms, the little spoon to Roger’s big spoon.

He felt the mattress shift as Roger pulled out of the embrace to reach for his phone on the nightstand, his still slumberous brain trying to follow the one-sided conversation.

“Hello? Hi. Oh, wow, okay. Yes, we’ll be right there. Yes, of course. Thank you. Okay, bye.”

Roger ended the call and Rafa turned half-open eyes on him, picking up on his sudden tension.

“That was Michael. Elena‘s waters have broken...”

~

Roger was driving them both to the hospital in his SUV - he was the much better driver out of the two of them and even so Rafa wasn’t sure he‘d have been focused enough to drive safely. Still his husband’s fingers would routinely tap out a beat on the steering wheel whenever they were forced to stop at a red light, while Rafa’s were clutching tight at the material of the sweatpants he’d all but thrown on before they’d rushed out the door. 

The private medical facility in Rafa’s hometown of Manacor was only a ten minute drive from their villa in Porto Cristo, but it felt like much longer. The maternity wing was tucked away at the back of the building and they were met in the reception area by a tall man with sandy blond hair, who shook hands warmly with them both before leading them through to a room where a beautiful dark-haired woman was sitting up in bed.

“Elena...” Roger greeted her, leaning down to kiss her cheek, and Rafa following suit. “How are you doing?” 

Her right hand was absentmindedly stroking her rounded stomach. “I’m fine, everything’s fine, you two. This is not my first rodeo, remember?” 

Her voice still carried a slight accent from having spent the first ten years of her life living in Spain before her family had moved to the U.S., where she’d later met and married her husband, Michael, the father of her three children. And after agreeing to be a surrogate for her cousin, she’d come to realise how fulfilling it could be helping two people become parents. 

When they’d first talked about having children together, Roger had been in favour of Rafa being the biological father, knowing how much he wanted children of his own. Of course Rafa had always believed that family was about more than just blood, and he’d love a child whether or not they carried his genes - he was after all a much-loved stepfather to Roger’s four children from his first marriage. 

Obviously he’d wished it were possible to have a child that was part of both him and Roger, but he certainly hadn’t expected his sister-in-law Diana to offer them the eggs she’d had frozen after a health scare prior to having her own children. Allowing the child that was to be conceived to be Rafa’s biological son or daughter, while also having some genetic links to Roger. 

Roger had of course joked about the prevalence of twins in his family and that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle even the possibility of a third set, but thankfully the 12-week scan had revealed they were only expecting the one child. 

Elena had come highly recommended by a very, very exclusive agency and they hadn’t been ten minutes into their first meeting with her and Michael before Rafa had been grinning widely as they’d conversed in rapid Spanish, both aware of their other halves good-naturedly rolling their eyes. And just over nine months later, here they were, on the cusp of welcoming a little addition to their family. 

With a sudden grimace, Elena shifted her position, and Michael perched beside her to hold her hand and rub her back. A few moments later, a nurse entered to examine her, and suggested Roger and Rafa might be more comfortable in one of the family rooms across the hall. 

And so there they waited, the minutes turning into hours as they relied on updates from the nursing staff, both of them tired but unable to sleep. Eventually, they curled up on one of the sofas, Rafa’s head in his husband’s lap and Roger playing with his hair while they tried to distract themselves talking about inane things, like the new restaurant Roger wanted them to try, and Rafa’s obsession with the latest season of Stranger Things, and their tentative plans for spending Christmas in Switzerland. 

Finally, at exactly four minutes past seven - Rafa had been watching the clock for the last hour or so - the door opened and a nurse entered carrying a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. They both stumbled to their feet as she approached them. 

“ _Señores_...congratulations, you have a daughter...”

The nurse placed her gently in Rafa’s arms, the Spaniard taking the greatest of care to support her head. Gazing down in wonder, he brought his hand up to touch her own miniature one. 

She was so tiny with a head of dark hair and a little rosebud mouth. Tears pricked at his eyes at the realisation that she was his - he was finally _un padre_ , and he felt as though the hand that was now gripping his finger was also squeezing his heart, and wasn’t ever going to let go. 

He felt an arm sliding around his waist and Roger pressing a kiss to his hairline, then reaching out his own hand to stroke the back of a finger over one baby-soft cheek. They were both too spellbound to even notice the nurse leaving the room. 

Rafa bent his head, whispering in soft Mallorquín. 

“ _Hola_... _la meva bella nena_... _som els vostres Papás_...”

***

Rafa flopped down on the sofa, feeling utterly exhausted.

He’d played plenty of long and tiring matches in his career, but the amount of energy it had taken to get through the last three days felt equivalent to playing back-to-back five-setters against Roger and Novak.

They’d been receiving a steady stream of visitors ever since they’d brought their daughter home from the hospital - he dearly loved his family and knew they were just excited to meet the newest member of the clan, but somehow he’d forgotten there were so many of them. The room was now positively overflowing with gifts and there were more pink balloons than he’d ever seen in his life, including one very large personalised one from his parents inscribed with their new granddaughter’s name. 

_Sofía Isabel_ had been the girl’s name they‘d finally agreed upon following several discussions in the weeks leading up to the birth. ‘Sofía’ had family connections for both of them, being the name of one of Rafa’s great-aunts as well as Roger’s paternal grandmother, while ‘Isabel’ was a tribute to Rafa’s sister, Maribel, with whom he had a very close relationship. 

However, their daughter’s hyphenated surname - Federer-Nadal - wouldn’t be official until the end of the week when they were meeting with their lawyers to sign the official legal paperwork for transfer of custody. 

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he looked up as Roger came into view, the baby monitor in one hand and an empty bottle in the other, and a muslin cloth draped over his shoulder. He pulled off the ‘hot dad’ look so effortlessly and Rafa’s tiredness didn’t mean he was any less aware that it had been several days since the last time they’d had sex. 

Which wasn’t unusual in itself, given that they might spend weeks apart playing different tournaments, but when they were together, and especially when they were away from the tour, their sex life was very, very healthy. And while the many lifestyle changes that came with new parenthood would take some getting used it, it meant they’d have to learn to make the most of whatever ‘alone time’ they could get. 

“ _¿Todo bien?_ ” 

Roger nodded and grinned, his knowledge of Spanish having much improved in the past year. “Sleeping like a baby...”

He set the monitor, bottle and muslin on the counter and Rafa held out a hand, pulling his husband down beside him - he wasted no time in joining their lips, controlling the kiss and pulling back swiftly when Roger’s tongue demanded entry to his mouth, trying to assert his own dominance. 

He cupped Roger’s cheek to keep him at bay, holding his gaze and arching his eyebrow. “You need shave...”

In fairness they both did, although Roger’s facial hair had always tended to grow more quickly - it was an easy thing to neglect when they were at home. 

“Hmmm...I thought you liked it, _liebchen_...”

The use of that particular endearment was a wicked ploy - it always turned him on hearing Roger speak in his native tongue and the Swiss pressed the advantage gained by his distraction, capturing his lips again and licking into his mouth. 

He urged Rafa backwards, keeping their bodies aligned, their thighs slotting together and their half-hard cocks desperately seeking friction. Forced apart by the need to breathe, Roger caught the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it up and over his head, and then returned to his mouth, his right hand reaching down to cup him through his sweatpants. He swallowed Rafa’s needy moan, even as he shoved them down as far as his knees, freeing his cock and dipping his head to press his tongue against the leaking slit. 

Rafa cried out, his hand automatically coming up to tangle his fingers in Roger’s hair, just as his hot, wet mouth engulfed him. It was going to be quick, quick and dirty, the Swiss wasting no time in taking him to the hilt, his only goal seemingly being to get Rafa off as swiftly as possible. 

He was quickly swept away by the slew of sensations, the calloused grip of the hand at the base of his cock, the hot silken drag of Roger’s lips and the contrasting roughness of his tongue on his aching flesh. A particularly keen suck caused his hips to cant and his foot to brush against Roger’s still-clothed dick, the latter’s choked groan vibrating through Rafa and the climax coiling down his spine winding tighter and tighter. 

He was close and Roger knew it - he’d learned to read Rafa’s body like Mozart had read music; his free hand briefly cradled Rafa’s balls and then reached behind them to crook his fingertips against the spot that he knew would deliver the _coup de grâce_. 

Roger’s name was torn from his lips on a elongated moan as the orgasm crashed over him like a wave, rippling through his whole body, and he was spilling himself down his husband’s throat, the Swiss eagerly swallowing every drop. 

His softening cock slid from Roger’s mouth as the latter fell back against the cushions, and Rafa’s dilated pupils lingered briefly on his swollen lips before falling hungrily on the _hard_ evidence that Roger’s own body still demanded satisfaction - shifting to clumsily straddle him, Rafa leaned in to catch his bottom lip between his teeth while reaching for his waistband, just as a piercing cry erupted from the monitor. 

Frustrated groans and curses escaped them both, albeit in different languages and Rafa reluctantly dragged himself off Roger’s lap, pulling his sweatpants up from where they were still lodged somewhere around his knees. He shot his husband a rueful look as he moved towards the stairs, the Swiss responding with a pained grimace, probably having to try and imagine Novak in a thong to cool off...

***

“ _Feliz Navidad...Feliz Navidad...Feliz Navidad...Prospero año y felicidad_...”

Roger leaned against the archway leading to the living room, his lips curving into an amused grin at the sight of Rafa singing and swinging his hips, while also trying to untangle a string of fairy lights.

The seven-foot alpine spruce they’d chosen was currently standing in the corner of the room awaiting decoration - with Christmas Eve only two days away, they were a little late in embarking on this particular tradition of the season but they’d only arrived in Verbier yesterday evening.

Having decided to spend the holidays in Switzerland this year, Roger had arranged for them to rent a luxury chalet in the beautiful Alpine resort, where they would soon be joined by Mirka and the children, and his parents. It would be Rafa’s first Christmas spent away from Manacor and his own kin - Roger had celebrated the festive season with his in-laws last year, his and Rafa’s first since their wedding.

So far his husband seemed to be enjoying the novelty of a Swiss winter - the chalet boasted a private ski slope and he’d spent the afternoon giving Rafa a skiing lesson. 

For a man who could slide around a clay court with remarkable ease, the Spaniard had been hilariously suspicious of the snow, all but glaring at it whenever he’d nearly lost his footing. And he’d looked adorable all bundled up in the ski gear Roger had bought for him, cheeks and nose reddened by the icy temperature.

He’d eventually gotten the hang of staying upright, managing to at least conquer the nursery level slope, but had been infinitely happier to be back indoors where he’d announced that they needed to get on and decorate the tree. 

Roger’s gaze moved to the rocker a few feet away, currently occupied by their three-month old daughter who was watching her father with a toothless grin on her little round face - he could just tell she was going to have Rafa’s smile and that he was going to be just as much of a fool for it. 

He wandered over, sliding his arms around his husband from behind and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck just below his ear. His hair was still damp from the shower he’d had after returning from the slopes and carried the citrus scent of his shampoo. 

“I see someone’s getting in the holiday spirit...”

Rafa turned around in his arms. “Is my holiday, no? _El Nadal_...” He pressed his fingertips to Roger’s mouth when he leaned in for a kiss. “Time for helping, no distracting.” 

Evidently giving up on the still tangled lights, he thrust them into Roger’s hands and reached for the bag of tinsel. As he rifled through it, a few stray metallic strands took flight, landing on his clothes and in his hair and Roger was reminded of being showered with confetti at that trophy ceremony in Madrid over a decade ago. 

Reminiscent of his younger self, he lifted up his hand to brush the fragments from his husband’s dark tresses, earning him a dimpled grin. 

Once he’d untangled the lights and they’d wound them around the tree along with the tinsel, they started adding ornaments - Rafa at times doing a good impression of his uncle Toni and practically barking orders at Roger to ensure the baubles were placed symmetrically. Eventually, the task was completed to the Spaniard’s satisfaction and they stood back to survey their handiwork, Rafa snuggling back into Roger’s arms. 

“ _Bon Nadal_ , Raf,” he murmured in his husband’s ear. 

“Mmm,” Rafa sighed. “Merry Christmas, Rogelio.” 

After all this time, it still did funny things to Roger to hear Rafa use the Spanish version of his name, and the way it sounded wrapped in his silky accent. 

He lifted his hand to steer Rafa’s head towards him, bringing their lips together and drinking in the taste of his mouth. His husband responded eagerly, turning and pressing closer and Roger’s hands automatically slid down to his arse. His cock twitched as he felt Rafa hardening against his thigh and he pulled back reluctantly. 

“‘Not in front of the baby’, remember?” he cited with a teasing grin. 

He chuckled at the memory from a few weeks ago when they’d been in bed, Roger’s hand curled around both their dicks and Rafa panting wetly against his neck, when their daughter had once again chosen an inopportune moment to wake up. 

Rafa had gone through to the nursery to see to her, having pulled a pair of boxers on over his still-hard cock and when he’d brought her back into the bedroom with him, he’d scolded Roger for still being naked as though it might somehow traumatise their two-month old child. 

With a grin, he moved over to the rocker, picking Sofía up and nuzzling her soft curls, making her giggle. “What do you think, _mi ängeli_? This is your first Christmas tree...didn’t Papá and Papi do a good job, huh?” 

Her little hand began reaching for the nearest bauble and he had to pull her away, handing her over to Rafa and retrieving his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He switched the camera to selfie mode and took a beautiful picture of the three of them in front of the tree. 

“It’s nearly dinner time,” he announced, noting the time as he put his phone away. “What do you fancy? Raclette maybe?” 

He laughed as Rafa wrinkled his nose in response, amused that his husband should so dislike the food that formed a major part of the Swiss diet. 

“Relax, baby, I put the chef on warning and he mentioned something about sole meunière earlier, so you won’t go hungry, I promise.” 

True to his word, Rafa got his seafood fix and after dinner, they gave Sofía her bath. Where possible they always made the effort to share parental duties - it was all new and equal parts exciting and terrifying for Rafa, and while Roger had done this all before, he enjoyed experiencing it all over again with the man he loved. 

Once bathed and ready for bed, Rafa gave her a bottle while Roger read a story until she fell asleep. Laying her down in the travel crib, they grabbed the monitor and tiptoed out of the room. Back downstairs, Roger selected a bottle of Rioja from the wine rack and poured them each a glass, before taking Rafa’s hand and leading him through to the lounge and over to the fireplace where logs were crackling inside a wood burner. 

“So, there’s one Christmas tradition we really need to celebrate...”

At Rafa’s confused frown, he cast his gaze upwards and the Spaniard followed his line of sight, gasping when he saw the vine of green foliage with snow-white berries that had been hung from the wooden beam bisecting the ceiling. 

He turned to Roger with a grin, his left eyebrow raised in its patented arch. “You needing excuse for the kissing?” 

“Never,” Roger confirmed. “Now come here...”

Rafa surged forward in compliance, the kiss quickly growing heated as his lips parted and Roger licked into his mouth, his hands sliding to Rafa’s hips as he tugged him down onto the deerskin rug beside the hearth. 

He was touching Rafa like he was starving for him, as if they’d only just been reunited after playing different tournaments, as if they hadn’t fucked last night into the early hours or returned to bed for a very pleasurable respite during Sofía’s mid-morning nap. 

His hands roamed under Rafa’s sweater, pushing it up and then together they hauled it over his head. Their mouths briefly reconnected before Roger’s lips began a familiar downward journey starting with Rafa’s neck and relishing the hot little moan that escaped him. 

“Going to kiss you all over, _liebchen_ ,” he promised. 

And he did. The rest of their clothes melted away like snow falling on a hot chimney as he mapped Rafa’s body with his lips and teeth and tongue, the fairy lights twinkling on the tree and the warm glow from the fire highlighting the aroused flush stealing over his golden skin. He lingered over the places he knew would make the Spaniard arch and quiver and the most delicious sounds spill out of him. 

When he finally slid his cock inside Rafa’s beautiful arse, groaning into his neck and linking their fingers together as he leisurely brought them both to a shuddering climax, he felt something akin to peace, a contentment beyond anything he’d ever known. 

If the fabled concept of living ‘happily ever after’ was at all possible, he reckoned they were pretty damn close to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m aware that surrogacy isn’t legal or recognised in Spain or Switzerland but I’m choosing to plead creative license.
> 
> Kudos and comments as always appreciated :)
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter two...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set June to August 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s taken so long to post a second chapter - also can’t say when chapter three will be up but I am working on some ideas...
> 
> Hope you enjoy...

Rafa jolted awake, feeling as always the brief disorientation that came from having spent the majority of his life sleeping in faceless hotel rooms.

This time, however, he was at home, albeit not in his bed. He’d fallen asleep again in the recliner chair in his daughter’s nursery, which he obviously had to thank for the niggling pain in his lower back.

With a yawn he sat up, his eyes automatically going to the crib and realising with a start that it was empty. He briefly scanned the room, before the worst irrational thoughts began entering his mind and he stumbled into action, racing out the room and down the stairs; his momentum was suddenly brought to a halt at the sight of the Wilson racquet bag and three Rimowa suitcases standing in the hall. 

His heart rate slowly returning to normal and his mouth curving into a smile, he followed the sound of voices through to the kitchen where he found his eight-month-old daughter babbling away happily as her Papi fed her a bowl of mashed banana while he chatted with his sister-in-law.

“Rogi...you’re home...”

Hearing his voice, Roger turned, a smile lighting up his own face, and Maribel was happy to take over breakfast duty with her niece so they could greet each other properly, after spending more than a week apart.

They met halfway, Rafa falling into Roger’s arms and breathing in his warm, familiar scent.

“I thought you no coming back until tonight...”

Roger pulled away just enough to press a kiss to Rafa’s lips before answering.

”I missed you...both of you...”

He’d been away playing in Halle and adding an eleventh title to his tally. Rafa and Sofía were supposed to have been there with him - if only one of them was playing a tournament, the other usually came to support them, unless it involved travelling outside Europe which really wasn’t practical with an infant; it had been tough enough when they’d both been playing in Australia at the start of the year, even with the help of their families. 

Unfortunately Sofía had developed a nasty cold two days before they’d been due to travel and Rafa had therefore chosen to stay at home with her. Thankfully he’d managed to watch yesterday’s final on TV and see his husband defeat Stefanos Tsitsipas in straight sets - afterwards he’d texted Roger to congratulate him and attached a picture of himself lying on the sofa with their little girl resting on his chest.

 _“También te hemos echado de menos_...we miss you too.”

He sought Roger’s lips again, both of them momentarily forgetting they weren’t alone, until Maribel cleared her throat and then laughed at the blush creeping into Rafa’s cheeks.

“You two definitely needing a babysitter...”

Roger grinned. “Mari has kindly agreed to look after Sofía for the day.”

“Is no chore for me,” his sister assured them with a smile. “Is it, _la meva estimada_?” She tickled Sofía under her chin making her squeal with glee. “Mery invite us over...”

In spite of how their relationship had ended, he’d remained on good terms with his ex-girlfriend, and she was now married herself with a daughter who was only a couple of months older than Sofía.

While Roger packed a bag for Maribel to take with her, Rafa cleaned their daughter’s face and hands and then strapped her into her stroller, his back protesting as he bent down and his wince not escaping Roger’s notice.

“You didn’t spend every night sleeping in that chair, did you?” he asked once they were alone, with a look of fond exasperation.

Rafa responded with a sheepish shrug. “Not all the night. She was not sleeping well...and I worry. And it feel lonely in our bed...”

“Tell me about it,” Roger agreed, pulling him close again. “I missed sleeping next to you too.”

He took Rafa’s hands in his, linking their fingers together.

“Now why don’t you get that gorgeous arse of yours upstairs and in the shower and when I’ve cleaned up down here, I’ll come join you...”

Rafa nodded approvingly at the suggestion and hurried up the stairs, his body already warming at the thought of getting to enjoy a few uninterrupted hours with Roger. He shed his t-shirt and shorts en-route to the master bathroom which was home to a luxurious marble and glass enclosure fitted with multiple hydrotherapy jets.

The warm pulsing spray helped to soothe his aching muscles while he waited for his husband and he was reminded of the early days of their relationship and how they’d often ended up fooling around in locker rooms - like the time Roger had sucked him off in the shower after thrashing him in the final in Shanghai.

His cock stirred at the memory and as if on cue, he heard the glass door slide open and Roger’s naked body press against him, arms encircling his waist and mouth grazing against the spot where his neck and shoulder met.

Turning in his arms, Rafa sought his lips and eagerly arched against him, relishing the feel of Roger’s wet skin against his own, until the Swiss broke off the kiss and gripped his hips to still his movements.

“Easy, baby...we’ve got all day...”

Meaning for once they had time to enjoy more than just a quick fuck in the shower. Even so, they made short work of washing themselves, towelling off and vacating the bathroom - Roger took Rafa’s hand, leading him silently through to their bedroom and urging him to lie face down on their king size bed.

Rafa was quick to comply and resting his chin on his arms, he looked up enquiringly at his husband who was opening one of the drawers in their nightstand and taking out a bottle of scented oil.

He felt the mattress dip as Roger climbed on the bed and straddled his thighs. Moments later, he inhaled softly at the sensation of oil hitting his skin, pooling in the dip at the base of his spine and then two hands gliding slowly up the centre of his back, spreading it over his shoulders and then sliding back down, thumbs digging into his obliques.

As an athlete, Roger obviously knew the benefits of massage for pain relief, although his touch gradually became less therapeutic and more sensual as his long-fingered hands began targeting the Spaniard’s particular erogenous zones, like the nape of his neck, the underside of his shoulder blades and the small of his back. His cock, which had been half-hard since Roger joined him in the shower, was soon straining against the percale sheets beneath him, the need for friction heightening every sensation.

He let out a breathless moan when Roger suddenly shifted down the bed before cupping the cheeks of his arse, his thumbs sliding into the cleft between them, and parting the round, firm globes to reveal his puckered entrance.

“Fuck, I’ve missed your arse, _liebchen_...”

A warm exhaling of breath was all that preceded the wet heat of Roger’s tongue pressing against his hole as the Swiss sought to reacquaint himself, alternating between licking eagerly at his opening and drawing teasing circles around the rim, sending pleasure shooting across his nerve endings. 

Rafa whimpered and cursed, grinding back on his husband’s tongue, desperately needing something inside him - usually when he and Roger were separated for any length of time, he had a drawer full of toys he could use, or even his own fingers, but with a sick baby to look after for the past week, taking care of his own needs hadn’t been a priority.

He moaned in protest when Roger drew back, only to feel his thumb pressing inside, just to the first knuckle, and it was both too much and not enough at the same time. He circled his hips, trying to take the digit deeper, his leaking cock soaking the sheets as he helplessly rubbed himself against them. He was so turned on that he didn’t register the snick of a bottle cap, until a slick finger replaced the thumb, making him cry out and arch his back.

“Mmm, fuck, baby...you’re tight...” Roger murmured, the words vibrating against Rafa’s skin. “Need to stretch you, yeah...get you ready for my cock...”

He added a second finger and Rafa shuddered as it grazed the edge of his prostate. He gasped as Roger twisted both fingers inside him, searching and finding, giving him only a few seconds warning as the pleasure suddenly spiked to an unbearable height. His eyes squeezed shut as the unexpected orgasm ripped through him, his body breaking in an overload of tremors.

As he slowly came down, he felt Roger ease his fingers free of his still-clenching hole and move up the bed, his chest pressing against Rafa’s back and his mouth hovering above his ear.

“Couldn’t wait, huh, baby? Such a desperate little thing...so hot...”

Any embarrassment he might have felt at his lack of control was short-lived as Roger clearly had no complaints, his own cock still hard and digging into Rafa’s hip as he cupped his face, turning it to the side so he could reach his mouth. The Spaniard moaned, tasting himself on his husband’s tongue, and a belated spasm rocked his body.

Roger shifted onto his side, pulling Rafa back against him and lightly stroking his sides as he kissed down the side of his neck and along the crest of his shoulder. His climax had only taken the edge off and he still ached to feel Roger’s cock inside him. The thought alone was enough to have desire pooling in his groin and he whimpered as the Swiss sucked a bruise into his skin, grabbing one of his hands and moving it back to his arse with intent.

Eager to oblige, Roger pressed his fingers back inside him, taking extra care to prepare him quickly and sufficiently, and then replacing them with his cock. They both groaned in unison at finally being joined and Roger leisurely rolled his hips, sliding deeper with every thrust. It was a slow burn this time, Rafa’s body still sensitive and the slightest stimulation feeling even more intense, until he was begging Roger to go faster, to fuck him harder.

“Roger...” he pleaded. “ _Por favor_... _necesito_... _más rapido_...”

The Swiss muttered a curse into his damp hair, gripping Rafa’s hips to gain the necessary leverage to satisfy his demands.

“So fucking beautiful, _liebchen_...so perfect... going to come so hard inside you, baby, fill you up...”

Rafa moaned desperately at the mental picture painted by the wicked promise, his cock incredibly growing hard again and he knew Roger was close, his movements becoming jagged as his harsh breaths echoed in the air around them. Then his hand was reaching down to grasp Rafa’s dick, palming it readily and his grip tightening as he suddenly rocked forward in a direct nudge against the Spaniard’s prostate.

He cried out, his body convulsing as he came for a second time, simultaneously feeling the hot, wet surge of Roger‘s release inside him and the nip of his teeth at his earlier bite mark, prolonging the aftershocks that rippled through them.

They exchanged lazy kisses as they succumbed to the inevitable lethargy, Rafa barely aware of Roger briefly leaving his side to retrieve a damp washcloth and clean him up. When they awoke a couple of hours later, they made their way downstairs to fix themselves some lunch and when Maribel eventually returned with Sofía, they were curled up on the sofa, flicking through the television channels.

“Looks like you enjoy yourselves,” Rafa concluded, smiling at their daughter who was sound asleep in her stroller.

“I could say same,“ his sister remarked with a teasing grin, eyeing the purpling mark on his neck.

Having already made plans to meet her boyfriend, Maribel soon left the three of them alone and Rafa snuggled back against Roger, contemplating the large gold and green trophy that had been temporarily placed on the coffee table and as always feeling fit to burst with pride over his husband‘s latest accomplishment.

And the fact that they were both still able to play the game they loved at such a high level, well beyond their peak years, the game that had brought them together, only made Rafa more thankful every day for what he had - both with his career, and with his precious little family.

***

“ _¡Merda! ¡Hòstia puta!_ ”

Roger glanced over at his husband, sitting beside him in the passenger seat of their car and cursing.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked as he followed the signs to join the highway out of Manacor.

“We needing to go back,” the Spaniard responded anxiously. “I forget your present.”

Tomorrow would be Roger’s fortieth birthday and they were on their way to Puerto Pollensa where Rafa had booked them a room for the night at a luxury boutique hotel.

“Don’t worry, you can give it to me when we get back...”

Rafa shot him an incredulous look at the suggestion. “ _Por favor_ , Rogi...”

The Swiss rolled his eyes good-naturedly as they approached a roundabout, keeping in the left hand lane to turn back in the direction of Porto Cristo.

Fifteen minutes later, he was driving back through the gates guarding the entrance to their home, pulling up outside and waiting expectantly for Rafa to go inside and fetch the gift.

“Do you need my help or something?” he asked jokingly, when his husband made no move to get out the car.

He took the bait. “ _Sí_... _sí_...is big to carry...”

Roger smirked, getting out and digging in his pocket for his house keys, and then jogging up the steps to the oak-studded front door, Rafa at his heels. Unlocking it, he pushed it open to be greeted by a mass of people surrounded by banners and balloons heralding his milestone age.

At the collective shout of “Surprise!” he turned to Rafa, who was sporting a massive grin, before looking around at all those who’d gathered to celebrate the occasion - his parents and Mirka were there with the children, along with his vast number of in-laws, both his and Rafa’s teams and various other close friends.

Rafa’s older cousins had turned their kitchen into a temporary bar and were busy taking drinks orders while Roger mingled with his guests, receiving an abundance of birthday wishes mixed equally with jokes about him ‘getting old’.

Eventually they made it across the room to where Rafa’s _abuela_ was sitting and he leaned down to kiss the Nadal matriarch on her papery cheek. When she said something to him in Mallorquín, he looked to Rafa for translation, intrigued by the blush colouring his husband’s cheeks.

“She say she hope you still being able to keep up with me,” he whispered. “On court...and off.”

Roger laughed, both at the venerable woman’s brazenness and Rafa’s embarrassment. “Tell her where you’re concerned, I have the stamina of two men...”

The quip earned him a light smack on the arm from the Spaniard which only made him laugh harder as Rafa excused himself to go and get them both a drink.

Glancing out the window, he saw his older children running around the garden, happily playing ‘tag’ with some of the younger members of the Nadal clan.

After ten years of being a full-time father, it obviously felt strange not seeing them nearly every day. They seemed to have adapted pretty easily, still joining him at the bigger tournaments and during the breaks he would visit them in Switzerland or they’d come to stay with him in Mallorca - the girls had even started learning Spanish and Leo never passed up the chance to hit with Rafa at the academy.

“They really love it here...”

He turned to look at Mirka standing beside him. “I love having them here...Rafa too.”

“Speaking of the man who stole my husband’s heart, you had no idea he’d planned all this?”

Roger threw her a knowing look. “Of course I knew...Rafa’s terrible at keeping secrets.” He saw the Spaniard heading back over to them. “Look at him...would you want to disappoint that face?”

“As whipped as ever I see...” his ex-wife teased, patting him on the shoulder.

Rafa reached them, catching Mirka’s words and his eyes meeting Roger’s, and he knew they were both remembering a conversation from the other week; when the Spaniard had given him a cheeky response about something and Roger had suggested testing out his now improved ‘backhand’ on his husband’s arse.

He watched Rafa shake his head lightly as if to banish the memory as he handed Roger a beer. “Mama is gone to wake Sofía...”

A few minutes later, his mother-in-law appeared on the stairs carrying their little girl, who was all sleep-mussed and clutching her favourite stuffed rabbit, and looking a bit wary of all the people suddenly occupying her home. As soon as she spotted her two fathers, her arms reached out and Rafa took her, cuddling her close and whispering to her in his native tongue.

It didn’t take long for her to steal the limelight and being Rafa’s daughter, she quickly enchanted her audience, giggling adorably when one of their friends engaged her in a game of peekaboo.

The afternoon soon gave way to evening and Rafa fired up the grill for a proper Spanish _parrillada_ , cooking juicy steaks, smoky ribs and garlic-infused shrimps, all accompanied by his mother’s famed paella. And as the sun started to sink in the sky, he presented Roger with a huge, three-tier chocolate cake decorated with Lindt truffles.

“Looks amazing,” he whispered to Rafa. “Though I’m a tiny bit disappointed not to have you jump out of it like a stripper...”

After the obligatory singing and Roger blowing out all forty of the candles, Toni’s son, Joan got out a guitar and started playing. Rafa tried to get him to dance, but Roger had never had his husband‘s rhythm, his technique being better classified as ‘dad-dancing’. But when Myla and Charlene grabbed his hands, he gave in and all four of them swayed to the music.

Later, when they‘d said goodbye to the last of their guests, Roger slid his arms around Rafa from behind.

“So I’m assuming this was my big present?“ he whispered against his husband’s ear.

The Spaniard turned in his embrace. “One present, _sí_. Others are less big and more...private...“

“Mmm...sounds promising...” He toyed with the top button on Rafa’s shirt. “Do I get to unwrap them now?”

Rafa grinned, shaking his head in amusement at Roger’s flirty innuendo. Whatever gifts he’d chosen to bestow, nothing could ever come close to spending the rest of his life with this amazing and beautiful man.

Coasting his fingers through Rafa’s hair, he cupped his face, never getting tired of looking at him or touching him. “Have I told you how much I love you today?”

The Spaniard pretended to ponder the rhetorical question. “I no remember...”

“Well, in that case, _liebchen_...” Roger reasoned, backing him up against the wall and dipping his head to close the distance between their lips. “How about I just show you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments as always appreciated :)
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter three...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set January/September 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More apologies for the delay in posting and again no promises about further chapters - I still need to think what I want to come next for these two (maybe we need a tiny bit of angst to shake things up a little)...
> 
> At the moment I’m in the very early stages of an AU piece so I’ll be concentrating on that for a bit while I wait for some inspiration...
> 
> Anyways hope you enjoy...

The bright stadium lights twinkled in Rafa’s peripheral vision, the crowd cheering Novak as he was awarded the runner-up plate.

“ _And now, ladies and gentlemen, your champion. He won his first title here in 2009_...”

It was strange to think it had been thirteen years since he’d last stood on this court waiting to lift the trophy which had since eluded him on so many occasions. In that time, he’d more than trebled his Slam count, winning multiple titles at the other three majors.

“ _Tonight he has not only won a record-equalling twenty-second Grand Slam title, but in the process he’s become the first man in the Open Era to win each of the four major titles more than once_...”

The double career Slam had long been viewed as the holy grail of men’s tennis, something seemingly unattainable even for the glorified ‘Big 3‘ triarchy.

Until now.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, from Spain, the Australian Open champion for 2022, Rafael Nadal_...”

As he ascended the steps to the platform, he allowed himself a quick glance over at his box - Roger was seated front and centre surrounded by his team and other family members, and Rafa’s heart melted at the look of jubilant pride on his husband’s face.

Focusing his attention on receiving the beautiful silver trophy from Rod Laver, he lifted it up above his head to thunderous applause before stepping up to the microphone to give his speech.

He started off with the usual congratulations to his opponent - there had never been much love lost between him and Novak, their relationship at best being one of measured civility, especially given the past comments from the Serb’s family about Roger.

It was amusing given their vehement insistence that his husband was too old to still be playing tennis, that Roger had come back following his last injury hiatus to win another two Slams - a ninth Wimbledon crown and his first US Open title in over a decade, as well as that long-awaited Olympic gold medal in singles in Tokyo. And with Rafa having won his fourteenth Roland Garros last year to initially overtake him in the Slam race, tonight’s victory had once more made them joint record holders and further extended their lead over Novak.

He also made sure to thank the tournament organisers and the staff, and all the sponsors (especially Kia), as well as his team and family, before finally addressing the crowd.

“You have been there with me through all of my career...and I am so glad I sharing this special moment with all of you...”

He’d always felt incredibly humbled by the unwavering support of his fans over the past two decades, knowing many of them crossed continents to watch him play.

“Thank you very much, and as always I hope to see you next year...”

The enormity of his achievement still hadn’t quite sunk in and he felt like he was walking on air as he posed for the flashing cameras, giving them the signature shot of him cheekily biting the trophy. And when he eventually made his way off the court, he was inundated with requests for autographs, which he was more than happy to grant.

Finally, his hand cramping from scribbling his name on an abundance of hats, t-shirts and programmes, he headed down the tunnel to the player’s lounge where his family were waiting for him, Maribel squealing as she hugged him tightly. His parents joined the embrace, a cacophony of Mallorquín reaching his ears while his eyes searched the room over their heads, until he spotted Roger standing and talking with Charly.

It took his coach and longtime friend only a matter of seconds to realise he’d lost the Swiss’ attention as he and Rafa exchanged beaming smiles, Roger’s eyes and teeth characteristically disappearing as the grin eclipsed his face and he quickly closed the distance between them. Disentangling himself from his family, Rafa fell into his arms.

“So amazing, baby, I knew you could do it...” Roger murmured against his sweat-damp hair. “ _Mi campeon_...”

Hearing Roger speak Spanish always gave him _los sentimientos_ , reminding him of their wedding day when the Swiss had earnestly recited his vows in Rafa’s native language. And after the highly emotional events of the evening, it made him feel even more overwhelmed with how much he loved this man, tears welling in his eyes as he buried his face in Roger’s neck. 

He was briefly startled by a loud popping sound as someone opened a bottle of champagne and moments later a glass was being pressed into his hand. He sipped it carefully, aware that he was due in press soon, where his English skills were always most put to the test and he didn’t need any additional handicap.

Preferably, he wanted to shower and change clothes before that, wondering if he could convince Roger to come with him and ‘wash his back’...

The Swiss grinned at the suggestion, throwing him a hot look that would normally have them tearing each other’s clothes off, before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Patience, _liebchen_...can’t have you being late to press, can we?”

He chuckled at Rafa’s pout, smacking him lightly on the arse as he turned, resigned, in the direction of the locker room.

Novak and his team had long gone, and as he stripped off his kit and stepped beneath the warm needles of water cascading from the shower head, Rafa closed his eyes, thinking of the night ahead when he and Roger would eventually be able to celebrate alone together, in private and preferably naked - they’d established a sort of tradition in the last couple of years; when one of them scored a championship win, they got to be the one who ‘called the shots’, so to speak.

Just the thought of ending this amazing day between the sheets with his gorgeous husband made him shiver, in spite of the temperature of the water. Even after five years together, Roger’s touch was still able to ignite his body like an electric charge.

That thing people said about desire waning with time? Didn’t apply to them at all...

~

Rafa let out a long, low moan, feeling the pleasure spiking way too quickly as he frantically rode Roger’s cock.

His orgasm was just out of reach - his own dick was iron hard and pointing skyward, silently begging for the relief of a calloused hand, but he wanted to make it count, to really _earn_ it.

Aside from the fingertips digging into his hips and hopefully leaving star-shaped bruises, Roger was lying almost passively beneath him, biting his lip in that way that he did when he was really turned on.

Ordinarily Rafa preferred to be the submissive one; on court he dominated, but in bed he loved relinquishing control. Switching it up was always pretty hot, including the handful of times when he’d ended up fucking Roger, although he definitely preferred getting fucked - the feeling of being taken, of being filled; it was a different kind of power.

He shifted slightly, causing a direct hit to his prostate, and whined as a tremor skipped through him in response, knowing just what he needed to tip him over the edge.

“ _Háblame_...”

Roger groaned at his demand. “Yes, baby, that’s it, fuck yourself on me...want to feel you come on my cock...”

“ _Sí_... _sí_...Rogi... _fotre_...” he gasped, almost delirious with need and grinding down hard with a keening cry as he came undone.

He pitched forward, his whole body shaking and his toes curling as his release decorated Roger’s torso.

He was still coming down when he felt a hand slide up his sweat-slick back to twist in the hair at the nape of his neck, and flip him over onto his back.

Barely able to feel his legs, Rafa wasn’t about to protest at Roger taking back control. He whimpered, hands fisting the sheets, as the Swiss settled into the perfect rhythm, prolonging his pleasure with every graze against his sensitive prostate.

Roger was licking his lips, his eyes brimming with heat as he chased down his own orgasm, and groaning thickly at the feel of Rafa’s arse still sporadically clenching around his cock, until the cadence of his hips grew erratic.

“Vamos Rogi... _quiero tu lefa en mi_...”

Rafa was pretty shy about talking in bed, unlike his loquacious husband, and when he did, it was always Roger’s undoing - the Swiss cursed, his whole body stiffening as the climax ricocheted through him and as bidden he emptied himself inside the Spaniard’s greedy arse.

Breathless and spent, he pulled out and collapsed beside Rafa who as usual curled up against him like a cat, fingers trailing through the Swiss’ chest hair still matted with his come.

“Is good I play no more matches,” he mumbled. “I definitely going to be feeling that tomorrow...”

Roger hummed in response, his eyes half-closed. “Mission accomplished...”

Rafa chuckled softly and after a few minutes of blissed-out quiet, he reluctantly dragged himself off the bed and padded through to the adjoining bathroom, Roger shortly following in his wake.

After showering together, they towelled off and slipped between the sheets, Roger spooning him and his warm breath feathering the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Reckon you’re finally going to have to accept that you’re the GOAT, baby...”

While both they and Novak continued to play at the highest levels, the debate over who deserved to be crowned ‘greatest of all time’ remained a hot topic, although Roger had always firmly endorsed Rafa, truly being his biggest fan.

“Unless you fancy gifting Novak another French Open...”

Rafa snorted and Roger giggled, the sound echoing in his ears and as always warming his heart as they both fell into a peaceful sleep.

***

The high-pitched squeal woke Roger from his siesta. He yawned and blinking to focus his eyes, he saw Rafa standing on the private balcony of the boat’s master cabin with Sofía in his arms.

“Fishes!”

Rafa made a shushing sound. “ _Silenci_ , _estimada_... Papi is still sleeping...”

“Not anymore,” Roger interjected as he hauled himself out of bed, grinning at his husband and daughter as he joined them.

“Fishes!”

He glanced out across the expanse of water in the vague direction her tiny finger was pointing and he saw the smooth surface suddenly interrupted by a trio of fins belonging to a group of dolphins.

He grinned at Sofía‘s obvious excitement at the sighting - like her father, she loved the sea, having grown accustomed to spending a lot of time on Rafa’s boat.

They were used to making the most of the short breaks in the tour when they could return home and enjoy some private family time. Last week they’d been in London for the fifth edition of the Laver Cup so it’d been relatively easy to fly back to Mallorca for a few days before they had to travel to Shanghai for the Masters tournament.

They’d taken the boat out nearly every day so far, Rafa’s tan growing even deeper as his skin soaked up the late September sunshine. Roger loved seeing him so happy and carefree, almost as much as he loved the sight of the Spaniard’s bright pink swim shorts clinging to his arse as he hauled himself out of the water onto the diving platform. Shorts which had today found themselves discarded on the floor of their cabin when he’d dragged Rafa below deck for a much-needed ‘siesta’.

“Wim! Wim! Fishes!”

Roger chuckled, tickling Sofía under her chin. “You want to swim with the fishes, huh, _schätzeli_?”

She really was her father’s daughter; she even did that cute little thing with her tongue when she was concentrating on something. She loved olives and seafood and Nutella, although thanks to her Swiss genes, she also loved cheese, much to Rafa’s disgust and Roger’s amusement.

The next couple of hours were spent swimming and snorkelling and as the daylight began to fade, they returned home and after putting Sofía to bed, Rafa started making dinner. The mouthwatering smell of the Spaniard’s cooking hit Roger’s nose as he came back downstairs after showering, making his stomach rumble.

Rafa was busy frying prawns in garlic and olive oil while a pot of pasta boiled away merrily. Roger padded over, sliding his arms around his husband from behind and resting his chin on his right shoulder.

“Need any help?” he asked and chuckled lightly when the Spaniard responded with an arched eyebrow. Both of them knew he was hopeless in the kitchen.

It was fortunate that Rafa was a good cook, otherwise they’d probably be living on takeout food and Roger wouldn’t still be playing professional tennis at the age of forty-one.

He tried to make himself useful by setting the table and then opening a bottle of white wine and pouring them both a glass while Rafa served up.

While they ate, they talked about their plans for the remaining days on the island before they rejoined the tour. They needed to schedule in some practice time and would be going to the academy tomorrow - Sofía would be happy to sit in the stands with her doting godfather, Titín, and she loved helping collect the balls at the end; a ball kid in the making.

Humming in satisfaction as he swallowed the last forkful from his plate, Roger picked up his glass and took a sip from it.

“Mmm, that was delicious, baby...better than a Michelin star restaurant...”

Rafa grinned, rolling his eyes at the over-exaggeration as he stood up to clear the table.

“Mama stop by while you were in shower...she bring us special treat for dessert...”

Roger’s eyes lit up - his mother-in-law knew he had a terrible weakness for her homemade churros. Rafa opened the Tupperware container sitting on the worktop, immediately having to smack Roger’s pilfering hand away.

Taking one of the still-warm pastries, the Spaniard brought it up to Roger’s mouth, feeding it to him and then licking and sucking the excess sugar from his own fingers. His eyes darkened at the sight - he was a very visual person and Rafa always knew how to take advantage of that.

They shared a few more of the delicious confections and after clearing up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, they relocated to the lounge area and Rafa picked up the remote to turn on the television.

“You want to watch movie?”

Roger murmured his assent, flopping down on the sofa, while Rafa opened up the Netflix menu, scrolling through the list of films.

“Rogi...”

The Swiss mock groaned at his choice. “Really Raf? _Gladiator_ again?”

Rafa turned his pleading puppy-dog eyes on him and Roger sighed in resignation - it was a look he’d never been able to say ‘no’ to.

With a happy grin the Spaniard started the film and then joined him on the sofa, settling between his legs and snuggling back against his chest. Roger slid his left arm loosely around his waist and pressed a kiss to the right side of his neck just below his ear.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the film - it was actually one of his own favourites, but he’d watched it so many times with Rafa over the years that he could practically recite the script verbatim. Meaning he would be all the more easily distracted by his husband’s chronic inability to keep still for more than a few minutes at a time.

He wasn’t made of stone and there was only so long he could cope with Rafa’s fidgeting when his arse was nestled this close to his cock. He shifted again, his t-shirt riding up and Roger’s eyes were immediately drawn to the exposed strip of golden skin and the trail of hair that disappeared beneath his sweatpants. They were Rafa’s favourite pair, grey and well-worn, and hanging low on his hips.

He was already half-hard and he knew Rafa could feel it, his movements seeming more and more deliberate, although his eyes remained fixed on the events playing out on screen. 

_Well, two could play that game_...

Rafa’s skin was warm under his hands as his thumbs teasingly traced the Spaniard’s defined hipbones, revelling in his slightly laboured breathing and the material of his sweatpants growing taut over his own hardening cock. Working his right hand between their bodies, he cupped Rafa’s arse, his fingers probing between his cheeks and pressing against his cotton-covered hole.

The response from his husband was a low, needy moan and Roger drew back only to press two of his fingers against his lips, the Spaniard eagerly opening his mouth to them to make them wet. Once suitably slick, he wasted no time in burying them inside the scorching heat of Rafa’s arse.

Rafa whimpered at Roger’s experienced touch and his free hand cupped the Spaniard’s jaw to bring their mouths together in a messy, desperate kiss as he began fingering him in earnest, zeroing in on the spot that he knew would send him spiralling into ecstasy.

He swallowed Rafa’s keening cries, a sign that he was already close - it shouldn’t be surprising given how much his husband loved being filled, always begging to have Roger’s fingers or tongue or cock inside him.

“Rogi, _por favor_...”

His free hand slipped under the Spaniard’s t-shirt, quickly finding his left nipple and gently catching the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. Rafa whined at the new sensation, his body straining, arching like a bow and finally breaking under the onslaught of pleasure.

“Fuck, yes, come for me, _liebchen_...” Roger coaxed, watching him shudder through his climax. “So fucking beautiful...”

Rafa panted against his collarbone as he gently eased his fingers free, feeling satisfied at the sight of his husband’s dishevelled hair and flushed skin, and the come-soaked cotton covering his spent cock.

The Spaniard’s eyes flickered open and he let out a soft sigh, finding the strength to turn his still-twitching body in Roger’s arms and running a hand down his torso to cup the hard dick still tenting his own sweatpants.

He muttered a curse, already close to the edge himself from watching Rafa come apart on his fingers - thankfully his husband seemed to be feeling merciful, tugging at his waistband to free his cock and taking it in his calloused hand, his touch always electrifying, even in its familiarity.

Barely half a dozen strokes and he was coming in hot, white spurts over Rafa’s fist as he groaned his pleasure into the Spaniard’s hair.

“Hmm, I don’t remember the film being that good...”

Rafa giggled. “I think you ruin it for me now, no?”

“Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame, baby,” Roger countered, tucking himself back inside his sweatpants. “Your arse should definitely coming with a warning...”

Not wanting to sit through the rest of the film in their soiled clothes, they headed upstairs to clean up and change, checking in on their sleeping daughter at the same time. Afterwards they settled back on the sofa with mugs of hot chocolate, both failing to hide their tears when a dying Maximus was reunited with his family in the afterlife at the film’s conclusion. 

Switching off the television, Roger grinned as Rafa tried to fight a yawn and pulling him upright, he gently ushered him towards the stairs, silently reflecting on another day well spent and the simple pleasure of time spent at home that all his trophies and professional accolades could never rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments as always appreciated :)
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter four...


End file.
